siesta fiesta

Classes are finished and grades have been submitted.

Still, the week has demanded as much of me as teaching full time usually does. Yesterday morning, my bones felt heavy with fatigue as I reluctantly left the refuge of bed and headed to the immediate comfort of coffee and morning reading. Two hours later, I was doing kung fu maneuvers with the Canuck and our eager instructor, The Orphan (see 'orphan' tag for backstory).

After a lunch of homemade hamburgers - my punishment for losing a friendly bet - I felt my body beginning to wage silent protest against any ambitions I had for staying awake. The Orphan told me story after story, and being a quiet audience of one soon forced me to confess how tired I was. We agreed to rest for a while. It pleased me to know that he felt at home enough to stretch out on my sofa and make complete use of it and its pillows. I returned to the bed that I had been forced to abandon earlier in the day. I fell asleep to the gentle motor of an oscilating fan.

Sleep brought a temporary halt to a schedule that, while rich in company, has been meager in reprieve. One of my friends once said of her self-imposed breakneck days, "I can sleep when I'm dead." I will never ever understand that.


PHOTOS FROM THE PAST WEEK:

Above and below: learning how to make jaozi (Chinese dumplings) at a friend's house

Below: friends + chun bing (Chinese style burrito in which a flat pancake is stuffed at the table with whatever filling has been ordered -- one of my favorite things to eat in THE WHOLE WORLD)

Below: Japan rockin' the mic at ktv.

sunset weeping and sunrise rejoicing

I know an orphan. His mother died unexpectedly after the school year had started. His hometown is far away, and he couldn't attend the funeral because it coincided with mid-term exams. His father has now transplanted himself to the city in which the eldest son resides.

When his mother died, he chose me to be his confidant. I don't know why. I had to trust the plan of that moment.

Since then, I spend time with him almost weekly. He has become a friend to me and to my team. He joins us on Sunday mornings, when possible. He comes over to hang out. We include him in celebrations and even mundane daily activities. He is a sweet, thoughtful and responsible young man. But even with those attributes, he has been without Hope.

Until now.

Prior to the start of a new week, we had a long, thorough and heartfelt talk on Friday in which we walked through the Roman road. It was made clear to me that it was time we broach that topic, and it was received with understanding but not commitment. As we said goodbye, he told me that he would spend the remaining hours of the night in thought of what was discussed.

He joined us last night at our weekly study. He was more subdued than usual, no doubt being affected by thoughts of his mother on a holiday (called Qing Ming) in which the dead are worshiped by surviving relatives. Meanwhile, throughout the city, small fires were popping along side streets as nationals burned paper effigies of items believed to be of use in the afterworld, including houses, cars, cell phones and even cigarettes. Our gathering was a world within a world; being in it but not of it. I was thankful to have him with us on such an occasion.

I didn't say much in reference to our Friday night conversation. I didn't need to. The sobriety on his face told me what he was thinking. I handed him a tract that was passed out to all in attendance on Sunday morning (not a usual practice). Written in both Chinese and English, it very clearly puts down all the points that we had addressed on Friday night. When I was handed a copy, I could quite literally feel my heart enlarge. I just knew that I knew that I knew: the time was at hand. I gave the tract to him last night and stepped back to watch things unfold at a pace in accordance with His plan and not mine.

I received a text message from him at 7:30 a.m. today. It was simple: “I want to.”

I will meet him after class this afternoon.

On the heels of an evening devoted to idolatry, this news gleams like the morning sun. I hope this is the first of many posts which follow his story.